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Software Developers Are Weird — And That’s Exactly Why We Need Them
Software developers are weird. I should know — I’m one of them.
And I didn’t plan to be this way. It’s not nurture, it’s nature. My father was one of Egypt’s early computer science pioneers in the 60s and 70s, back when computers filled entire rooms. He’d write assembly code, print it onto punch cards, then hop on a bus for half an hour to another university just to run them. If his code failed, he’d have to take that same 30-minute ride back, fix it, and start again.
Apparently, that experience was so fun he wanted to share it with me.
When I was eight, he sat me down to teach me how to code in BASIC. I rebelled instantly. I didn’t want to be a “computer nerd.” I wanted to be Hulk Hogan or Roald Dahl. Luckily, he supported the latter dream and filled my room with books.
I didn’t touch code again until high school — a mandatory programming class. I accidentally got one of the highest grades and panicked: Am I a nerd? I hid the result like it was an F.
Years later, in university, I told my dad I wanted to major in philosophy and writing — and become a famous DJ like Fatboy Slim. He smiled, pointed out that he was paying tuition, and said, “You can always think under a tree and write for free. But just in case, take computer science.”
So I did. Begrudgingly.
But fate — or recursion — had other plans.
One night, while tweaking a music plugin, I found a script file inside. I opened it, realized I could read the code, and before I knew it, I was rewriting the entire plugin. Ten hours later, I looked up and said the words every developer has said at least once: “Oh, damn.”
I was hooked again.
Years later, I became a senior software developer. One late night, I found a mysterious bug. I told my wife I’d be home in “15 minutes.” (Every dev’s lie.) Hours turned into days. The bug haunted my dreams. I finally found it — a race condition. When I fixed it, I screamed so loud the building’s security rushed in. That moment — pure joy, tied maybe with my first child’s birth, definitely ahead of my second’s — made me realize: I love this. I’m a developer.
And yes, we’re weird.
We find beauty in debugging chaos. We chase logic like art. We stay up for days just to make something work. For most of us, it’s not a job. It’s meaning.
But now, everything is changing. Generative AI is rewriting the rules. I see it firsthand in my role at Amazon Web Services. On one hand, innovation has never been easier. On the other, the speed of change is dizzying.
AI can now generate, explain, and debug code. It can build frontends, backends, and everything in between. So, what happens when AI can code better than humans? Should people still learn to code?
Yes. Absolutely.
Because developers aren’t just people who code. They think. They connect the dots between systems, ideas, and people. They live through complexity, ambiguity, and failure — and learn from it. That experience, that context, is something no AI can imitate.
Generative AI can write code fast. But it doesn’t understand why one solution scales and another collapses. It can generate answers, but not wisdom. And wisdom is what real developers bring to the table.
The next generation will need that wisdom more than ever.
My daughter Luli is 10. Recently, I decided it was time to teach her coding. I walked up to her room, nervous but proud — part of this grand family tradition.
“Hey, Luli,” I said. “How about I teach you how to code?”
She looked up, shrugged, and said, “I already know how.”
She showed me gamified apps on her iPad, complete with AI-generated projects and websites.
I just stood there, speechless.
“Oh, damn,” I said again.
And I realized — maybe software developers are weird. But in this new world, where AI writes code and kids outpace us, weird is exactly what keeps us human.
Because coding was never just about computers. It was always about curiosity.
